Review: Eileen
/
5 stars. Eileen, Eileen, Eileen. I'm in love. I'm completely blown away. I am changed forever because now I know what honest writing looks like.
Eileen is a young woman who lives with her father, a severe alcoholic, and works in an all-male juvenile prison in the late 1960s. This book recounts her last week before she leaves her hometown and, for better or for worse, creates a new life for herself.
It's a short but incredibly deep character study. Incredibly deep. Between the intimate details we learn about Eileen's bowel movements, unhygienic habits and self-destructive tendencies, we are granted memories and anecdotes that gradually help us form a comprehensive image of her tragic home life, family life and upbringing. The complete image, to me, is something Eileen herself would love - a high resolution capture of something so unsettling you can't look away.
There is a plot here (if I were to complain I'd complain about the climax) but the beauty of this book is in Eileen's brutal voice as she considers her father, her identity, her body, her surroundings, the people around her. I was shocked, at first, uncomfortable, then I was judgmental of Eileen - she's so unstable, she's troubled, she's abhorrent, she's disgusting, unclean - and then I realized: nope, she's normal. She's not troubled, she's just raw and unfiltered. And yes, perhaps she's a victim of unfortunate circumstances that cause her habits to become a little extreme. But I can't judge her, really - she just says what we all think, what we all contemplate; she vocalizes what we all consider and are tempted by and observe in others and ourselves. As Ottessa Moshfegh put it, “Eileen is not perverse. I think she’s totally normal … I haven’t written a freak character; I’ve written an honest character.” Either that or we're ALL perverse.
In fact, there are some things I related to immediately - Eileen's taste for the macabre, for example. "I didn't really read books about flowers or home economics. I liked books about awful things - murder, illness, death. I remember selecting one of the thickest books from the public library, a chronicle of ancient Egyptian medicine, to study the gruesome practice of pulling the brains of the dead out through the nose like skeins of yarn." I personally brag about my obsession with Egypt as a child - but I almost never admit that the reason I picked up books about Egypt in the library was to stare at the pictures of mummies. Of dead bodies.
And she stalks her crush (done that), imagines her colleagues in sexual scenarios (done that too) - sorry, is this too personal? Yeah, Eileen is like that. Like pulling out all your secrets out of the dryer - secrets you didn't even know were in there - and airing them on the balcony.
Along those lines, Moshfegh has some fascinating things to say about the more ... private ... details included: "The theatrics of graciousness and good manners are completely absurd to me. And I think they're really cruel, too. You can be sitting at a formal dinner with someone who you know is in a lot of pain, but depending on where you are you have to go through this charade and talk about how delicious the fucking salmon is, or whatever. So I like writing about the things that people spend their whole lives trying to pretend aren't there. Like pimples."
(Read the whole interview, it's amazing. Favorite quote: "At school, I learned: fuck school.")
I'm sorry, I know. I'm getting too deep, I think. I've hyperfocused on one aspect. Stuff happens in this book, I promise, and while it may not be enjoyable, exactly, it's captivating and wonderful and weird. I could go on and on about Eileen's relationship with her father, her infatuation with Rebecca, the fact that her name is Rebecca, the hideous crime surrounding Lee Polk, Eileen's hyper self-awareness and lack of self-respect... bottom line, this author is fucking talented, and this book is a joyful slap in the face.